


The Art of Love and War

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Training, implied Scarlet Vision
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is intoxicating. When Wanda walks beside her, she feels like her skin is burning up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Love and War

Natasha teaches her hand to hand combat in the mornings, the fast, sneaky moves that give girls their size the upper hand. Nobody else joins in -- Sam, Steve, and Rhodey don't need to. Vision occasionally watches, his eyes curious and bright. When Natasha suggests he join them, citing his ability to adjust density as an easy way to coast on their level, Vision ducks his head and babbles until Rhodey laughs and claps him on the back.

"Little dude was born yesterday, and he's already got women throwing themselves at his feet," he jokes.

 Wanda seeks out Vision's eyeline and gives him a tentative smile. She wants to impress that's he's more than welcome to train with them. Instead, she only feels waves of nervousness rolling off of the Vision. Were he human, she'd almost think he was blushing. 

"He likes you, Wanda," Natasha says later, when they're walking back to their rooms to shower, damp towels wrapped around their necks. She says it matter-of-factly, like it's obvious, like of course Wanda Maximoff would make a post-singularity superhero weak in the knees. 

Wanda has butterflies in her stomach, and if asked point blank, she would be pressed to admit that she's not even sure who has inspired them anymore. Vision is intriguing, and attractive. There's an intensity to his stare, and a placid wisdom to his words, that draws Wanda in. She'd like to know more about him. She'd like to know how he feels.

But Natasha... Natasha is intoxicating. When Wanda walks beside her, she feels like her skin is burning up, and she has to glance at her bare arms to be sure that they aren't crawling with red lightning. She'd like to taste Natasha, and know how she sounds unstrung.

Sometimes Maria Hill joins them, and it creates an easy environment, one where Natasha doesn't pull her punches and sometimes even makes jokes. Wanda likes seeing the unguarded version of Natasha that Maria draws out. And she likes Maria because Maria is blunt, and because she does not trust Tony Stark. It had taken long hours for Wanda to come to peace with the idea of staying under his roof, of coasting off of his funds. She's still not comfortable with it -- she wants to find some independence and cling to it as soon as she can. But Maria is reminder that you can work for the man, and serve something better. That you can eat somebody's bread and still remain wary and critical of their intentions. And that that's okay, and that it doesn't make you less part of the team. Maria helps Wanda feel safe. She can see why Natasha trusts her. 

Still, Wanda's favourite is when she and Natasha train alone. When they have the whole room to themselves, and their grunts echo, and the slap of skin hitting skin. When she can witness the flash of Natasha's grin and know that it was only meant for her. When Natasha will tease her, and there's a flirtatious edge to her words that makes Wanda think she must be wishfully hearing things, but no, there's Natasha's smirk, and a spark to her gaze.

They'd started this weeks ago, when Natasha had asked Wanda if she knew how to fight. Wanda had scoffed, and looked down at her hands, which Natasha followed immediately. 

"I already know that you're deadly, Wanda," she'd said. "But you need to know how to defend yourself, too."

Wanda could only gape at that. Wanda knows she is powerful, but that Natasha is right. She is also fragile, and sometimes her mind starts to fray. She cannot rely on her abilities alone. 

Before, Wanda had always had Pietro to defend her, to scoop her up and to carry her away from danger. And while she knows that Pietro will mend under the capable hands of Dr. Helen Cho, his near-death on the floating isle in Sokovia changed how Wanda sees the world. Pietro is her heart, but she cannot use him to breathe and to climb. She knows this now. She thinks she even knew it before -- when Clint had coaxed her, paralyzed with fright, back onto the battlefield again during the fight against Ultron. _I'll send your brother for you,_ Clint had said to her. Wanda needed to be something more than Pietro's twin then. For the moment, Wanda walks alone, and she needs to be that more than ever.

Natasha teaches Wanda that she cannot be shattered, even when she is knocking Wanda onto her ass on the mat. And Wanda likes feeling strong. She likes learning there's fight alongside magic in there.

Her attraction to Natasha had bubbled shortly after lessons began. She'd thought Natasha was impressive, and interesting before. Certainly pretty. Absolutely sexy. But they'd kept distance between them, Natasha's role as leader and Wanda's as volatile new recruit keeping their paths near to one another, but on parallel tracks. And now they'd come crashing together, and Natasha was pushing her knee between Wanda's legs to adjust her stance and guiding Wanda through moves with her hand pressed against the small of Wanda's back.

"You need to work on your follow through," Natasha murmurs to Wanda. "That's where all the power comes from." 

Her hand loosely clasps Wanda's upper arm, and she eases Wanda through a punch, showing her how to carry the attack through to the end. Her hand slides along Wanda's arm, and Wanda feels herself melt inside.  

She worries that she's so busy turning to jelly that she won't learn anything. But Natasha is a relentless tutor. She pushes Wanda until she is drenched with sweat and too wrung out to feel nervous butterflies, though oh god, in the afterglow, Wanda only wants her more for it. She finds release in the shower afterwards, harsh tension eking out when she comes, the hot drops of water washing salty sweat from Wanda's skin still a poor substitute for Natasha's tongue.

"Better," says Natasha, when Wanda glides through the punch again. Wanda's face lights up. Natasha is sparse with praise. 

"Don't get cocky, kid," Natasha jokes, and Wanda's brow creases, puzzled. She knows it must be a reference, to some old American movie or book. Like Wanda, Natasha didn't grow up here, but her pop culture knowledge is dazzling nonetheless. Wanda credits this partly to Clint Barton, partly to Natasha's seamless ability to assimilate. Wanda still feels three paces behind, and Natasha must read it on her face, because her teasing smirk melts away. "It's from a movie," she says helpfully. You're doing great."

"Thank you," says Wanda, and she smiles, and their eyes meet and they hold, for a while, for a long while, until Natasha clears her throat and looks away.

"Let's spar," she suggests. 

"Really?" asks Wanda. She's startled. It's not like they haven't before, but usually Natasha tackles combat with less free range, tells Wanda what moves to work on and when. That she isn't this time makes Wanda glow with new pride. She thinks that she must be improving.

Natasha grins, and circles Wanda until she's facing her. She shifts into a more aggressive stance, legs wide, feet planted. "Don't let me down, Maximoff," she says. It's fierce and flirtatious and Wanda feels colour rise in her cheeks. 

"Right back at you, Romanoff," Wanda replies, and there's crackle and steel there that's a match even for Natasha. It makes Wanda feels brave, and more sure.

And then they are off. Natasha lunges and feints at Wanda, but Wanda senses the lack of intent and remains still. She hears Natasha huff with laughter, but she doesn't have time to respond, because then Natasha punches again, and means it, and Wanda ducks and barely twists away in time.She stumbles a little regaining her footing, and Natasha takes advantage of the opening and pounces. Wanda skips backwards, light on her toes. She feels a whoosh of air where Natasha's knuckles almost graze her skin. 

Natasha laughs again. "Are we fighting or playing tag?" she asks.

"If you wait by the river long enough, the bodies of your enemies will float by," Wanda says dryly.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "It's too early for Sun Tzu." 

"Never," Wanda replies. And she means it as a joke, but it comes out earnest, as her words so often do. She has a fondness for Eastern philosophy. It approaches battle with a thoughtful sense of contemplation and a lack of arrogance that she envies. Wanda sees a lot of that in Natasha, despite the redhead's dismissive teasing.

Wanda has no time to mull this over any further, because Natasha is coming at her again, with a series of quick, chopping blows. Wanda blocks them, clumsily, and feels pain reverberate through her bones on impact. She backs up one step, and then another, and Natasha advances into the empty space.

Wanda is improving, but she's still easily overwhelmed -- the scars of her time behind Hydra walls, of the attack on Sokovia, are faded but still prominent. When she is cornered, she lashes out, without thought, without discipline. She feels cornered now. Without thinking, without assessing, Wanda flicks out her wrist, and a scarlet hex shoots from her palm. It hits Natasha square in the chest, and she goes flying back, hits the ground with a thump like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh fu--" Wanda dashes across the room after Natasha and collapses onto her knees by her side. "Natasha?" she squeaks, shrill and concerned. "Natasha, shit, I didn't meant to-- I am _so_ sorry, I--"

Natasha's eyes crack open. Her mouth tilts up in a smirk. "All warfare is based in deception," she says, and before Wanda has time to react, Natasha launches herself at Wanda and pins her to the ground by neatly straddling her hips. "Looks like I win this round."

Wanda struggles, tries to dislodge Natasha, but it's useless. "Cheater," she grumbles.

Natasha's smile only grows. "You're the one casting spells," she points out.

Wanda would retort, but she has a point. Instead, she tries again to wriggle out from underneath Natasha. It proves completely useless --Natasha's thighs are clamped firmly around her-- and after another moment, it occurs to Wanda how absurdly sexual this is, and she freezes. Her glance slides towards Natasha, and when their eyes meet, she finds that Natasha is watching her with something akin to...

Hunger.

The revelation startles Wanda. She feels her eyes widen. She can't bring herself to look away. Natasha's stare grows hotter, and it's like a tilt-shift between them, a sliding line between can't and can and want and have, and Wanda finds herself leaning up exactly as Natasha leans down, and their mouths crash together like a cymbal -- loud and synergetic and magnetic and _right._ Wanda winds her arms around Natasha's neck and tugs her down. Natasha goes. Her thighs tighten against Wanda's, and her lips part, and Wanda's tongue darts between them as she swallows Natasha's low moan.

Natasha's mouth breaks from Wanda's only to press itself to the skin of her throat, and Wanda feels her pulse hammering, hot blood pumping a steady rhythm against the delicate skin of Natasha's lips. Her hips buck when Natasha closes one hand over her breast, and when she whimpers Natasha's name, she barely recognizes the sound as her own voice. She says it again -- _Natasha_ \-- and the name is thick, and heady, and affirming on her tongue.

Natasha nuzzles the hollow between Wanda's neck and her collarbone. "Yes?" she asks. Her voice is rough and husky, and it ripples down Wanda's spine to her groin.

Wanda knots her hand in Natasha's hair. An hour ago, it was tied back, but pieces have fallen loose, coppery and wild and starting to curl from the heat. Wanda drags Natasha's head upwards, until they are face to face again, their lips scant inches apart.

"Fuck me," she breathes, and pressed as close as they are, Wanda actually _feels_ Natasha's breath catch. And a moment later, her hand, skimming down Wanda's side, and her lips, crushed against hers once more. 

Wanda's groan is as much relief as it is arousal when Natasha's fingers find her cunt. They sink into her, and she lifts her hips, grinds her pelvis against Natasha's palm. Natasha milks out Wanda's desire with steady, expert thrusts, and Wanda can only cling to Natasha's shoulders and shudder, until the air grows heavy and _pops,_ and she comes with a soft cry and a crackle.

"Alright," says Wanda, after a long moment of stunned and languid panting. "You win this this round."

Natasha drops her forehead against Wanda's shoulder and laughs.

Another moment passes, and then Wanda asks, "Natasha?"

"Hm?"

"I think it's time for a rematch."

Wanda twists lightning quick, and rolls Natasha onto her back. Whether to fight or to fuck, neither are even sure yet -- but they know they'll circle back around to both before the day is through.

 


End file.
